


A Long Way Forward

by rxcrcfllptrs



Series: Tony Stark is Peter Parker's Dad — The Playlist [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Virtual Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-17 00:32:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18954283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rxcrcfllptrs/pseuds/rxcrcfllptrs
Summary: For as long as he could remember, Peter had always been alone. He had a tablet and a stylus and a sprawling canvas, a world of his own creation.Sometimes he whirls around to hear voices that weren't there. Sometimes his canvas has a mind of its own, it draws up a man with a gentle smile and work-roughened hands, of happy childhood days in a mansion overlooking the ocean.Based off of "Shelter" by A-1 Productions.





	1. I Know I'm (Not) Alone

**Author's Note:**

> A very big thank you to [flickfreak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flickfreak/pseuds/Flickfreak/works) for inspiring and subsequently helping me with refining the ideas and events for this piece.

It's a day much like any other.

Brown eyes alight with curiosity blink open to the three lamps hovering above of his bedroom. If he thinks about it too hard, he thinks they each look like some kind of imploding star. A supernova, maybe the birth of a new galaxy. Peter rolls over onto his stomach, yawning as his unruly bedhead falls over his eyes. He taps through his tablet with slowly-blinking eyes, wondering what today would be like.

 _It'd be like all the other days_ , Peter thinks. A day he does whatever he can to keep himself amused and moving.

Already in preparation for what's to come, the four walls of his room pixellate and fade away to a clear canvas. The space sprawls out into a blueish whiteish infinity. He picks up his stylus and renders out today's playground.

 

* * *

 

The infinity shimmers subtly, the change isn't so apparent because Peter's plans aren't so far off from the blank canvas.

Peter steps off his bed in tentative steps. Rationally, clouds are made out of water and ice particles condensing into near-weightless suspensions. It wouldn't be able to hold the weight of a boy like him, but he puts on his brave face and trusts anyway.

He wanted to float today, maybe even fly. What better place to do it than on the things already present in the sky?

 _Clouds don't actually behave like this_ , he thinks later. His hands are clasped over his stomach, back on a fluffy cloud as he looks up into a column of the sky. There are clouds everywhere, all with the same physics-defying characteristics as the one he's lying on right now.

Peter lets his eyes wander to the pink-blue hued sky as the day fades.

For a moment, he lets himself drift.

 

* * *

 

The infinity becomes awash in blue and beige, sunny without a cloud in sight.

Peter dresses himself in knee-high khakis and a white button-up, looking over himself on the mirror hanging on his closet door. Without thinking, he reaches for sunglasses even though he knows the sun wouldn't actually harm him here—

_"Look at him, looking like his old man already!"_

He whirls around, and his feet spin the pattern in the sand. For as long as he could remember, Peter was alone in this world. Where did that voice come from?

For a few tense moments, the only things Peter could hear were palm tree leaves rustling against each other, calm sea waves hitting the shore. So eventually, he starts walking.

He walks the length of the shore, however long it may be, leaving indents on the shoreline. He walks close to the edge of the water but never quite touching it. He looks behind once to see his footprints filled in by the waves lapping up the indents in the sand.

A single set of footprints, that's all they'll ever be.

 

* * *

 

The infinity explodes bright green and deep blue, the sun winking up ahead as torrents of clouds frame it below.

Peter normally only sets his environment once then wanders in it for the rest of the day. Today though, he's going to try something new.

For once, he doesn't leave his tablet on his bed, but he keeps the stylus stashed away so he doesn't lose it. Some part of him is sure it would show up the next day even if he did lose it, but he doesn't want to take any chances.

His white-red raglan doesn't get inky grass stains, no matter how much he rolls and tumbles in it. The blades are crisp and cold on his skin, at the cusp of dewy as though the sun had evaporated most of it before the day started.

Tablet in hand, Peter brushes away his curls before making a few changes to his world.

Something akin to a rumble jostles under his feet, before he shoots up several feet in the air. He could almost feel his stomach turning at the sudden altitude change, but he laughs instead.  _I did it! I'm still alive!_

The pulsing under the skin of his chest picks up, just a tad. Something like adrenaline pumping through his veins as he presses another column, then another and another.

He leaves a trail of stone pillars and laughter behind him.

 

* * *

 

The infinity fades into a deep purple, frost creeping spidery cracks on the glass-like walls of his bedroom.

Peter decides to stay in today. The outside was blanketed in pillowy sheets of snow. He can see curtains of icicles dripping off the undersides of cliffs, droplets weeping off of them to make discs of ice on the ground.

If he looks up far above him, he can see streaks of green and blue light. It pools color intensely at the bottom, pulling into nothingness as it reaches up into the night.  _Auroras are luminous phenomena that consist of streamers of light appearing in the upper atmosphere of a planet's magnetic polar regions. They are caused by the emission of light from atoms excited by electrons accelerated along the planet's magnetic field lines._

He blinks, eyes glossy at recalling the textbook definition. He pulls his coat closer to himself, biting down a sob that threatened to come through.

_"Daddy, daddy! Could we have hot choc'late when we get home?"_

Peter sucks in a bite of cold air, turning towards the general direction of the sound. There, in the distance, two figures standing at the edge of a cliff. They seemed to be made up of yellow light, dissipating at the edges like fireflies. One was shorter, clasping the hand of the taller figure.

He could step out and take a closer look, but he doesn't.

_"Of course, bambino."_

There's the voice again, warm and comforting, encouraging pinpricks at the back of his head. A tear falls, trails down his cheek to his chin.

 

* * *

 

The infinity is more subdued, the changes crawling through the ground before chasing the white canvas into a night sky.

Peter walks through an almost monochrome forest, muted tones of blues and greys as trees sprout up along his path. His hands are nestled in the pockets of his coat, breath coming out as white puffs as though the frosted landscape never left. The tablet is inside his jacket, but he has a feeling he isn't going to be making any sudden changes today. As though traces of yesterday still linger, for once.

He hasn't felt in such a long time. He's  _almost_ felt many times, facsimiles and afterimages of what could have been joy, fear, pain, or even just sensation.

The fireflies came back again today, populating the forest in covers of soft pulsing light. They don't make up the same image of the pair he had seen before. Instead they twist and shiver, coming and going as they please. At the horizon, a knife's edge in his vision, are glints of gold and silver and red. Familiar, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

He knows that no matter how far he walks, his destination will always be just out of reach.

 

* * *

 

It was a day much like any other, until it wasn't.


	2. Silent Beside You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter remembers.

It starts out as a day much like any other, until it isn't.

For one, Peter lets most of the day pass by in a haze, staying within the glass walls of his bedroom. The canvas today is the default blank white-blue ground and sky. His bedroom is shielded by a column of light, slightly elevated by some stone structure. He's never questioned it, never had a reason to.

He's tinkering with a small heap of metal parts on his desk, tablet propped up with doodles on an idea he had a few days ago. In fact, he's so concentrated on what he's working on that he nearly misses it.

He already misses the world canvas dipping into the warm pink and orange hues of "sunset". But no, Peter wouldn't be able to miss this even if he tried.

There's a pause in his work, and he wipes the non-existent sweat from his brow. A flicker in his periphery makes him look at his tablet, which closes out his notes and instead opens the world canvas. Some part of him worries that the program is glitching out, possibly endangering or corrupting the world he lives in. He pushes it down and instead watches the program do what it will. Another secret part of himself believes that everything will be alright.

The canvas quickly fills with a prepared illustration that doesn't seem familiar, at first.

 

* * *

 

It's a house. A mansion, some sort of modern structure with circular platforms mounted on a cliff.

"Where am I...?" Peter stands abruptly from his desk. His tiny bedroom takes up barely any space when plopped in the middle of the spacious living room.

_"Peter!"_

He tries to find the source of the call, but something grabs hold of him and keeps him still. Instead, his vision spins and he washes out into a white glow.

 

* * *

 

He's standing in a bedroom now. Familiar, but not too familiar.

There's shelves of books and toys and family photos lining the deep blue walls. Peter looks down at his hands and startles.

Now he's the same quality as the projections he chases after in his landscapes. His hands glow yellow and, if he looks hard enough, he can see through them to the carpet below. He tries not to freak out about that. Or about the fact that the edges of his being are dissipating like fireflies, too.

Movement in the corner of his eye brings him back from the brink of panic. A child with curly brown hair playing with toy trains, their back facing Peter. The child is making airplane sounds and crashing the toys against each other. Peter read somewhere that if a person were to see themself from an outside perspective, they would not be able to recognize themself. Even more so if these selves were considerably differing in age.

But, for some inexplicable reason, Peter is certain who this kid is.

 _"Bambino!"_ a man in a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants runs into the room, crouching down to be at eye height with Peter's younger self.  _"What did I tell you about leaving daddy's sight?"_

His younger self looks at his dad in the eyes, Peter doesn't have to guess that he was looking at the man with a sorry expression. He doesn't have to guess because he can remember it for himself.

 _"To tell you before I leave,"_ the small voice replies.  _"I'm sorry, daddy._ _"_ Peter can picture the wobbling pout and shining eyes. The man practically melts and scoops the child into his arms.

 _"It's okay, bambino. Daddy just doesn't want to find his baby boy in any danger,"_ he says this before kissing the top of baby Peter's head. He rocks Peter back and forth for a few minutes, before putting him down again.  _"I think we should get lunch. Anything you want, squirt?"_

_"PBJ!"_

 

* * *

 

The ground drops from under him, and then he's in freefall.

Peter can feel the wind rushing under him, hair fluttering wildly in his descent.

_The value adopted in the International Service of Weights and Measures for the standard acceleration due to gravity on Earth is 9.80665 m/s², value already stated in the laws of some countries. This quantity is denoted variously as gn, ge (though this sometimes refers to the normal equatorial value on Earth, 9.78033 m/s _²_ ), g0, gee, or simply g._

At this point, he can struggle, he can try to save himself. But what would be the point of that? Of anything?

Brown eyes blink upward, expression blank as the expanse of the world's canvas shines white above him.

 

* * *

 

They're in the planetarium today. For the first time, it looks like.

Peter takes a seat in one of the reclining chairs in the back, eyes trained on the father and son pair. His younger self is a little bit older, not quite the bouncing toddler that he was in the previous simulation.

 _"Don't open your eyes until I say so, Pete,"_ the man—his  _father_ —says, large hands obscuring his younger self's eyes. Peter could remember the feeling.

 

(He sharply inhales to keep himself from crying. His tears glisten and blur his view in white-gold haloes. He remembers patches of memories: days and nights spent reading astronomy books, moving up to his own telescope, and now a planetarium in their own home.

Something in the back of his head remembers a fiery red-haired woman with exasperated tones and rolled eyes, trying to tell his dad off of constructing a planetarium for his 5-year-old. Nothing could deter his dad from giving him the world. Nothing did, nothing ever would.)

 

 _"It's so daaaark!"_ his younger self whines.  _"When can I open my eyes, daddy?"_

 _"Just a little while longer, bambino,"_ his dad says, putting aside the shoes his younger self kicked off earlier in his excitement.  _"Lights, J."_  The room dims until the only source of light is Peter's golden luminescence.  _"Okay, you can open your eyes now."_

For a moment, it was dark. Then a central projector in the center of the room lights up and the domed ceiling explodes into full color. Even Peter at present has to tear his eyes away from his past self to look up into the sky. 

 _"Oh my GOSH!"_  he remembers his eyes going to wide and round, soaking up as much of the projected images as he possibly could. He can hear the excited feet kicking, body thrumming and bursting at the seams with energy and gratitude.  _"Thank you thank you thank you! I love you so much!"_ He says this with all the awe and wonder a 5 year old could possibly have, small arms reaching heavenward to touch the cosmos.

 _"I love you too, Petey-pie,"_ his dad says, eyes crinkling at the corners.

 _"There's Earth! And Mars and Venus beside it, tiny Mercury by the Sun over there... and there's the Gas Giants! Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus..."_ his younger self rambles on, taking in the scenery and not quite at his father.

When Peter watches his dad then, he can see him consistently looking at a specific spot in the projection. Not always, but enough for Peter to start looking at it too. It takes some time to find whatever it is his dad is monitoring, but when he does, Peter's eyes widen a fraction.

A concerning cloud of violet, with a streak of silver inching ever closer to its trajectory — to  _Earth_.

 

* * *

 

Peter's falling, and falling.

He sees the blue and gold tendrils start to creep in his periphery. The white light is getting smaller and smaller.

He's falling.

 

* * *

 

His footsteps are quiet but they echo in the hallway. If Peter puts his hands to the wall, it would be rough and unpleasant. He remembers digging into the paneling, sinking his fingers in to feel the mushy insulation underneath.

One end of the hallway leads to a sloping ramp, ending with closed elevator doors. The other side... well, the other side also had closed doors. The only people in this house who could access this floor were his father, Aunt Pepper, and Uncle Rhodey. The doors drew nearer and nearer.

He stops in front of the doors, steeling himself for what's to come. Every nerve in him is screaming not to proceed, to run back to the elevator, to safety, to anything but this. He reaches out to open the door—

And ends up on the other side.  _No time to lose, I guess._

There's his dad, tirelessly working on some other brilliant contraption for the betterment of mankind, he hopes. There's holo-screens up on every work station, dad flitting about each one like a hummingbird. Peter takes a few steps closer, leaning on some scaffolding as he watches him work.

It's mesmerizing, watching an expert in their finest moments, working in their element. A few pokes at a simulation program, sitting down to solder into circuit boards, hammering away at a stubborn bit of metal. Peter could sit and watch for a long time, but eventually his eyes drift to the screens in motion.

It isn't difficult to do with the lights at 20%, the screens light up what darkness their luminescence could reach. 

The first screen he zeroes in on is the projection in the planetarium. Its focus is particularly on the purple cloud inching ever closer. The silver streak that used to be close to it is closer to Earth now. Another screen is running numbers on...  _something_ , with a line graph steadily climbing upwards, spiking every so often. 

There's another table with a fully metal container, wires running out of it. The screen beside it has another line graph, this one persistently uniform even with its by-the-millisecond updates. If he squints, the container seems to possess an otherworldly blue glow seeping through the cracks.

And finally, there's one screen with a camera on an empty swivel chair backing, the top right labelling it 'Richards, Reed'. Something drops in the pit of Peter's stomach, the pieces coming together in a way he hoped would not be so painful. But it is, it always has been.

Finally, his dad comes up from what he's working on, like a drowning man coming up for air. In the blue light, the reddening rims of his puffy eyes aren't as obvious, but everything is clear from where Peter's standing.

After his dad comes around from behind his contraption, he claps his hands twice. The screens disappear and the lights turn up to 60%. A spotlight on the contraption lights up, and his dad looks upon it, arms akimbo.

Peter... Peter recognizes it, and he wishes he doesn't. He takes a step backwards, "No, oh no, no no no no..."

His hands stiffen and he feels hot-cold all over. He may not have been present leading up to— he needs to get out of here. Turn back the clock, he refuses to see his dad looking at those damned screens printing words that takes his dad away from him. No amount of screaming or kicking or anything could change this memory, his past set in stone.

 _"Run Protocol PS199999,"_ his dad says, brittle and tired and infinitely sad.

 _"Baby Monitor Protocol PS199999 in progress. Young master Peter will be with you shortly,_ _"_ Jarvis sounds tired, resigned somehow.

Peter can't be here anymore. He can't stay.

He runs.

The world washes to white.

 

* * *

 

_"Daddy, daddy, daddy! Look what I made!"  
_

_"Oh, is this for me? Peter, you shouldn't have!"_

 

_"...If anyone asks, DUM-E did it."_

_"I don't think Aunty Pep will believe that."_

 

_"You're the bestest dad in the world!"_

_"I can only be the bestest dad to the bestest son, Petey-pie."_  

 

* * *

 

Peter turns his heel, and he can see his dad looking up at the sky.

Most of the smoke has cleared, the plume of white visible from the sliver that Peter can see from where he's standing. There's a plaintive smile on his dad's face, fresh tears rolling down.

He tries to walk to his dad, to run, to hug him and tell him he's going to be okay, that he  _is_ okay. But no matter how far he tries to run, even if he can feel his chest bursting and heaving from the effort, his father's just out of reach. Further and further away from him...

 

Peter's vision dims, and the world is dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it. Take care. ♡


End file.
